Prose Scraps

Intellect Lite

Tim came from Flat Rock, the closest you could get to God’s country without being annihilated or saved. He grew there, and grew up one summer night over in Hendersonville in the back of the doctor’s debutante daughter’s Sedan de Ville. A year or two later he went downhill all the way to the coast.(…)

Pi in the Sky

Once upon a time, long ago, before all elected officials were knowledgeable, wise, and dedicated to serving the people who elected them, a majority of elected politicians decided to ease the lives of their children by simplifying the arithmetic that they were forced to learn. They legislated that from now on that pesky mysterious number(…)

Intellect Lite

Tim came from Flat Rock, the closest you could get to God’s country without being annihilated or saved. He grew there, and grew up one summer night over in Hendersonville in the back of the doctor’s debutante daughter’s Sedan de Ville. A year or two later he went downhill all the way to the coast.(…)

C#rh€M

He finished a second cinnamon roll, patted his flat stomach. Looked at the demitasse of black coffee in his right hand. Still half full, not still hot. He stood up ignoring the hand holds and wrote ‘C#rh€M’ on the nearest flout board. He added five lines of exotic symbols. The flout board verbalised his scrawl.(…)

it would be novel to write a novel

Alan does not ‘do’ novels, but he sometimes thinks (wishes) to start one. Here are a few of his abandoned opening scenes. Jackdaw Jackdaw, Editor  He pulled himself up by his own bootstraps and that seemed to go well enough. He looked around and saw that he was still lying on his back on the beach.(…)

plinking

Grunts and Moses is the name of this new group playing down at the swamp bar. We sort of listened to them while we took turns firing Chad’s new .22 pistol out through the open window at critters in the water. ‘It’s a Smith & Wesson Model 22A with a five and a half-inch barrel,’(…)

word and gun play at teatime

This is a fragment not included yet in the non-book Autonomous Rifle which Alan pretends to be writing (at). Jackdaw, Editor ‘Olding. Is that a nonce word or did you make it up?’ noose (not capitalised) asked the recumbent rifle. ‘What,’ answered AR-666, no interrogatory rise in its voice. It narrowed its eyes, in a(…)

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